ealthy and the gay, the poor and the apparently miserable, went
pouring by in crowds, and some did not hear the beggar-child's plea,
others that heard did not heed it, while many paused from idle curiosity
to gaze at her, and a few flung her a penny, and passed on. Harry and
Effie too went on, frequently looking back and forming little plans for
the good of the child, until their attention was attracted by other
objects of compassion or admiration. Sleighs were continually dashing
past them, drawn by beautiful horses, and filled with the forms of the
young, the gay, and the happy. Old men, bowed down by the weight of
years, hobbled along on the pavements, their thin blue lips distorted by
a smile--a smile of welcome to the year that, perhaps, before its
departure, would see them laid in the grave--and busy tradesmen, with
faces strongly marked by care, or avarice, or anxiety, jostled by them;
ladies too, in gay hats and large rich shawls, or the more
comfort-seeking in cloaks and muffs; and poor women, with their tattered
clothing drawn closely around their shrinking forms, were hurrying
forward apparently with the same intent. Every variety of the human
species seemed crowded on those narrow pavements.

Harry and Effie were only a few rods from Mr T.'s door, when Mr Maurice
overtook them, on his way to some other part of the city. He smiled, as
he always did, on his children, then putting a few pence into Effie's
hand, whispered something about '_temptation money_,' and passed on.

'I shan't be tempted, though,' said the child, holding the coin before
her brother's eyes.

'No, Effie,' replied the boy, 'it isn't wrong to spend this money for
yourself, so you can't be tempted to do wrong with it. This is every
body's day for pleasure, and you ought to enjoy it.'

'I have enjoyed it,' said Effie, looking upon her brother smilingly,
'and I guess somebody else has helped me.'

'I guess so, too,' was the reply, 'I think we have been a great deal
happier than if we had come here in the morning.'

Children though they were, they were demonstrating the words of the Lord
Jesus, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'

Mr T.'s shop was crowded to overflowing with children, a few grown
people intermingling: and every one, from the errand boy, that, with his
hard-earned pittance in his hand, was estimating the amount of good
things it would purchase, to the child of the wealthy merchant,
murmuring because the waxen dol